


little birds are tasting gratitude and gold

by blackkat



Series: hawks 'verse [21]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flirting, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Picnics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Apicnic,” Maul says, like it’s absolutely distasteful.Given that Savage has heard him use that tone about everything from movie theaters to deodorant,andgiven that they're already in the park, he just rolls his eyes and throws the spare blanket he managed to find at Maul. “This is for Waxer,” he says pointedly. “As thanks for helping you pass your biology test.”
Relationships: CT-5597 | Jesse/Darth Maul, Savage Opress/Waxer (Star Wars)
Series: hawks 'verse [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825195
Comments: 20
Kudos: 501





	little birds are tasting gratitude and gold

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Hawks verse perhaps, Savage/Waxer, picnicking in the park with Maul stalking following Jesse, and Feral teaming up with Numa to give Boil grey hair

“A _picnic_ ,” Maul says, like it’s absolutely distasteful.

Given that Savage has heard him use that tone about everything from movie theaters to deodorant, _and_ given that they're already in the park, he just rolls his eyes and throws the spare blanket he managed to find at Maul. “This is for Waxer,” he says pointedly. “As thanks for helping you pass your biology test.”

“This is for Maul?” Feral asks, muffled, from where he has his head in the back seat as he scrounges for something. “I thought it was a date.”

Savage refuses to acknowledge the fact that his ears are red and hot. “I wouldn’t take the two of you on one of my dates,” he says, and it’s the truth. It’s also maybe a large part of the reason why he dragged Maul and Feral along in the first place. If they're here, it’s not a date.

Maul gives him a look of exquisite suffering and then pointedly turns away with a huff. “Does _Waxer_ know it isn't a date?” he asks snidely.

“You had best hope so, seeing as he’s bringing the food,” Savage tells him. “Feral, what did you lose?”

“My phone,” Feral says, and Savage has been taking care of both of them more than long enough to see the way Maul's studied disinterest turns all at once into practiced, perfectly casual disinterest. With a sigh, he holds out a hand, waving it in front of Maul, and Maul attempts to look innocent for about three seconds before he scowls in offense and pulls Feral’s phone out of his pocket, dropping it in Savage’s palm.

“Here,” Savage says, and as Feral surfaces from beneath the driver’s seat, Savage passes it to him. “Let’s go, we’ll be late.”

“You can't be late for a _picnic_ ,” Maul mutters, but he starts up the path regardless. Savage locks the car and follows, Feral beside him, and tries not to let the flicker of wariness in his stomach get the better of him. Waxer knows Feral and Maul. He spent days with them when Savage was sick. They aren’t going to run him off now.

Of course, that says nothing about _Savage_ managing to run him off.

“Are you okay?” Feral asks, watching him.

“You look constipated,” Maul adds, ever helpful. “Where are we meant to be _going_? You do realize this park is several kilometers across, yes?”

“The hill over the lake,” Savage says, and refuses to acknowledge Feral’s question. “Waxer mentioned he might bring his brothers.”

“Not _all_ of them, I hope,” Maul mutters, but he takes the path towards the lake without further complaint, which is close enough to gleeful agreement for him that Savage lets it be. He squints towards the top of the hill above them, looking for any sign of Waxer, but the trees crowning it block his view, and he sighs a little, running a hand over his head. there's no need to be nervous. It’s not _actually_ a date.

But if it goes well, Savage might actually try for a _real_ date. After the barbeque this weekend, maybe. Assuming Waxer ever wants to speak to him again after a full afternoon with all three of them.

And then, right in the middle of the path, Maul stops absolutely _dead_. Savage almost slams into him, has to pull back at the last second and grab Feral’s shoulder to catch himself, and alarm flares. “Maul?” he asks, stepping around him to see his face. Maul is staring ahead of them, something like alarm written across his features, but when Savage turns to look at what might have caused such a reaction, the only thing he can see is Waxer climbing up the other side of the hill, a basket hitched up on his shoulder. His mostly _bare_ shoulder, because he’s wearing another loose tank top that leaves his arms all too obvious, the definition of his shoulders clear.

Savage had been sure, before meeting Waxer, that psychology majors weren’t supposed to _look_ like that. He’d already had so many thoughts about Waxer as a TA, neat and perfectly pressed, and this just—isn't fair. It isn't fair at _all_.

It takes Savage a long, long second to realize that Waxer isn't the only one approaching. There's a man with him who Savage vaguely recalls having seen in the Engineering building at the university, mostly because that mustache is rather remarkable. He’s almost eerily identical to Waxer, and there's a little girl perched on his shoulders, hands gripping his ears. Her hair is dyed bright blue-green, pulled up in two pigtails, and she’s laughing along with Waxer.

Trailing a few feet behind them is another pair of obvious brothers, though the older one only looks about Maul's age. He has his arm hooked around the neck of a younger boy with his long hair pulled up in a bun, and as far as Savage can tell it’s the older boy Maul is staring at.

Maybe it’s the tattoo. Savage is mostly resigned to Maul doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants, but the idea of him getting a face tattoo is mildly alarming.

“Savage!” Waxer calls, smiling, and waves. Immediately distracted, Savage waves back, stepping off the trail to meet him, and reaches out.

“Can I take something?” he asks, because Waxer has the basket on one shoulder and a bag under the other.

Waxer smiles at him, and Savage tries very hard to pretend his heart doesn’t turn over in his chest. “If you want, you can take Boil’s bag,” he says, and when the man behind him makes a sound of offense, he smirks. “Sorry, _Numa’s_ bag.”

Savage snorts, taking it and slinging the strap over his shoulder. “Numa, is it?” he asks the little girl.

“Hi!” she says cheerfully. “You're big. Uncle Waxer was right.”

“ _Numa_ ,” Waxer says, face going red. “Just—I meant I needed to pack more food, because you probably eat more,” he tells Savage, and then, in a blatant attempt to change the subject, “I hope you don’t mind that I brought Jesse and Tup. We were studying, and I thought this would be a nice break.”

Savage can't help a smile. “So it’s not just my brothers you tutor. That makes me feel better.”

Boil snorts, ducking down, and Numa leaps off his shoulders in a move that’s clearly practiced and familiar. “Waxer’s the family sucker,” he says. “And built-in babysitter. That’s why I'm still letting him mooch off of me.”

“If I moved out, you’d starve in a week,” Waxer says, unbothered by the needling. “You haven’t cooked since we were _seven_.”

“Why would I? You're right there.” Boil snickers, dodging the elbow Waxer throws at him, and grabs Numa’s hand. “Come on, Numa, let’s find a spot to eat.”

“Up a tree!” Numa says delightedly, pointing towards one of the leaning birch trees at the top of the hill.

“Maybe somewhere slightly roomier,” Boil says. “There's a lot of us, right?”

“I guess,” Numa allows, and pulls him up the slope.

Waxer chuckles a little, raising a hand to shade his eyes. “Hi Feral, hi Maul,” he says warmly. “And congratulations on the test.”

“It wasn’t _hard_ ,” Maul says dismissively, and narrows his eyes at Jesse. “They allow you out unsupervised?”

Jesse just rolls his eyes. “Tup's my supervision,” he says, and the younger boy under his arm makes a sound of protest.

“No, I'm not,” he says, annoyed, and tries to wriggle out of Jesse's grip. “I'm supposed to look after Numa, not _you_.”

“I'm the one who helped you write your essay!” Jesse protests, but Tup successfully lunges out of his hold, only to collide with Feral as he stumbles. Feral yelps, and they both go down in a tangle of limbs and offense that makes Savage wince.

Waxer just sighs a little, though he’s smiling. “I thought you’d get along,” he says. “Jesse, why don’t you go see if they're still renting boats at the lake? I know Boil wanted to surprise Numa.”

“All right,” Jesse says, astonishingly agreeable for a teenager. Though potentially experience with Maul has skewed Savage’s expectations. He casts Maul a smirk, then heads down the hill, vanishing into a stand of trees a few meters down.

Well, Savage thinks, brows rising. When he casts a glance at Maul, though, Maul just growls and flings the blanket at him.

“I'm going to wait in the car,” he snaps, and turns on his heel, stalking away.

Not towards the car, though.

“That path leads towards the lake,” Waxer observes, amused, and reaches down, offering Feral and Tup a hand. Feral grabs it, then Tup, and Waxer pulls both of them back to their feet and asks, “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Tup says, a little flushed, but he casts a glance at Feral. “I—I should go check on Numa.”

Seeing his chance, Savage tosses the blanket to Feral. “Go with him and help set up,” he says, and when Feral gives him a look, he sighs and adds, “If you would.”

“Sure,” Feral says, giving him a perfectly innocent smile. He turns and heads up the path at a trot, and Tup hurries to catch up, still a little red in the face. Which leaves Savage alone with Waxer, who’s watching him thoughtfully.

“Thanks for suggesting this,” he says after a moment. “I needed a break from tutoring.”

“It’s no problem,” Savage says, maybe a little rough, but the tank top is loose enough that he can see a smear of color that curls down towards Waxer’s ribs, and he wants to stirp Waxer’s shirt off, get his hands on it. See what other tattoos the loose cloth is hiding, and whether Waxer’s really been thinking about Savage’s size in all the way Savage hopes he has. “Sorry you had to do all the cooking.”

Waxer laughs a little. “That was part of the break,” he says easily. “I don’t mind it.”

“Good,” Savage says, and reaches out, plucking the basket of food from Waxer’s grip and hoisting it up on his own shoulder. The way Waxer’s eyes follow the motion, then slide down over his chest, is gratifying, and it makes heat curl low in Savage’s stomach.

“Now you're carrying _everything_ ,” Waxer protests, a little belated. Like he was distracted, and Savage hopes he was. “I can take something. Those must be heavy.”

“I could lift _you_ ,” Savage tells him, amused. “These are nothing.”

Waxer’s eyes widen, and his face goes red. Quickly, he ducks his head, coughing into his fist, and says, strangled, “I—if you're sure.”

“Very,” Savage says, low, and Waxer glances up to meet his eyes, like he can't resist. He’s beautiful, and Savage wants to drop the food, drop the bag, press him up against a tree and see if his fantasies can be anything like reality. But—

He can save that for the first date. With the way Waxer is looking at him, Savage feels a little more certain that he’ll get one.


End file.
